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Hey Steve…

Hey Steve...

Hey Steve, Long time, no chat… How have you been? Still having trouble sleeping? You really shouldn’t let that video of Justin Trudeau stripping bother you so much. Sure, he’s 12 years ...

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The Soundtrack Of My Life

The Soundtrack Of My Life

stupid (stoo-pid) adjective lacking intelligence or common sense: I am stupid. fat (fat) noun a natural oily or greasy substance occurring in animals bodies, esp. when deposited as a layer under the skin or around ...

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Did I Vote On Your Marriage?

Did I Vote On Your Marriage?

That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for the GLBT community. Ask any American where the center of the Universe is and they’ll tell you it’s somewhere below the ...

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This House Is Not Yet A Home

This House Is Not Yet A Home

house (hous) noun a building for human habitation; esp. one that is lived in by a family or a small group of people: this house is not yet a home. You know you’re getting ...

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Does Size Matter?

Does Size Matter?

The quick answer is “yes.” I assume that your dirty little mind went “there” immediately… mine generally does. I am what is affectionately called a “crotch watcher,” as it is the first ...

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I F*cking Hate Valentines Day

I F*cking Hate Valentines Day

February 14 (feb-ru-ar-y 14) noun the 45th day of the Gregorian calendar; Valentines Day; on February 14th I’ll show you how much you mean to me. Valentines Day makes my skin crawl.  Of all the manufactured ...

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Hunting Unicorns

Hunting Unicorns

mythical (myth-i-cal) adjective occurring in or characteristic of myths or folk tales; the unicorn is a mythical creature. A good friend of mine recently came out to me. Not from the closet – she’s ...

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As Free As My Hair

As Free As My Hair

That I’ll die livin’ just as free as my hair” - Lady Gaga The experiment is over. The waste-bin is filled with the remnants of my latest misguided attempt to grow out ...

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Hunting And Pecking My Way Out

hiding (hid-ing) noun the action of concealing something or someone; I’ve been hiding most of my life. I’ve been spending a lot of my time lately with Lara Croft.  The new “reboot” of Tomb ...

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I Bet My Dog Could Beat Up Your Dog

by Robbie Romu on October 14, 2014

There is an old man who walks his dog along the waterfront in Queensborough Landing. He is, to my best estimation, in his seventies. His dog is a poodle-doodle, or something like that, with a made up name and questionable lineage. It is, to my best estimation, older than dirt. We see each other from time to time when I am walking Zadie, my friend’s 7-year-old Great Dane. She has jet-black fur and legs like a super model (Zadie that is, not my friend, although her legs aren’t half bad either…) His dog isn’t interested in much anymore. Zadie, who is amazing with people, but less so with other animals, wants to eat his dog.

The old man never complains or makes a fuss when she lunges and barks and carries on like a hooligan. He is calm and collected, and as cool as a cucumber. He stops and waits, a crooked half-smile on his face, and then says:

“I bet my dog could beat up your dog.”

I generally respond with:

“I bet your right.” Or, “Ha Ha! I don’t doubt it.”

I do not know his story. I do not know why he says the same thing every … Read more...

cardboardpanties99@gmail.com

by Robbie Romu on June 30, 2014

I recently got a frantic telephone call from a girlfriend of mine that went something like this:

Her: “Can you talk?”

Me: “Sure.”

Her: “I shoved my panties in my pussy and now I have a yeast infection.”

Me: “Gross.”

Her: “Yeah! Can you believe it?”

Me: “Um… Not really.”

Her: “A fucking yeast infection!”

Me: “What did you think was going to happen?”

Turns out she was just following instructions from her boyfriend. He wanted her to put her panties in her pussy, get them “nice and wet” and then sleep with them under her pillow. I don’t think he wanted her to get a yeast infection.

He’s also asked her to wear her panties for a week and then mail them to him in a Ziploc bag and once, to stand in the corner wearing a garbage bag while he masturbated onto a picture of Sarah Palin.

None of this is terribly shocking. People are in to some crazy stuff.

I once stood on a guys balls with my combat boots as he jerked off while his fat, hairy friend did poppers and played with himself across the room. I did it more for him than me. I’m … Read more...

Man V Squirrel: Dawn Of Injustice

by Robbie Romu on June 8, 2014

War is hell. More so for the loser.

For the better part of the past few months my Husband has been waging a war with a squirrel. He’s super stressed (Jason, not the squirrel) because it’s been digging in the planter boxes on our balcony. He’s super cute (the squirrel, not… well both of them are super cute) and I’ve nicknamed him Theodore. I don’t think that was appreciated.

Jason is an avid gardener with a green thumb and ambitious plans. Theodore is (apparently) a “dirty mother fucker without any respect.” Jason hates him unconditionally. He is also Theodore’s monkey. I don’t know with absolute certainty that Theodore wakes up every morning and dreams of different ways to torment his monkey, but I suspect that this is the case. If Theodore could talk, he’d say, “Jump little monkey, jump,” and Jason would answer, “How high?”

It started innocently enough, with an occasional comment (or mutter) from my husband about something digging up his plants. It quickly escalated into a targeted attack. He (Theodore, not Jason) has a personal vendetta against us and is bound and determined to destroy every last plant we own.

“Leave me out of this,” I have … Read more...

I Heard Him Say He Was Proud Of Me

by Robbie Romu on May 25, 2014

I learned to shoot just after my seventh birthday with a .22 caliber rifle my parents gave to me as a gift. I actually wanted the latest Six Million Dollar Man and Bionic Woman action figures but I hid my disappointment as well as I could. My older brother already had a gun of his own so I knew this day was coming. My Dad had been hinting about for weeks. In retrospect, I probably should have been grateful that they took the time to gift-wrap it.

Dad took me to the local garbage dump and set up a bunch of bottles for me to practice on. He was far more excited than I was. He resolutely went over an endless list of safety precautions, teaching me how to properly handle my new weapon and detailing the enormous responsibility it was to have a gun of my own. He was not remiss in his duties but the obvious issue of giving a gun to a seven year old was never discussed.

I did not hit a bottle until my fifth or sixth try but when I did I doubt he had ever been happier. We both breathed a tremendous sigh … Read more...

intention
(in-ten-shuh-n) noun
the end or object intended; purpose

Twice this past week us gays have been up in arms over perceived homophobia by the straights. We’ve stomped our feet angrily, sent nasty tweets and decried the use of language we find offensive.

First, it was a billboard in St. John’s by Opera on the Avalon promoting their run of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which read, “Filled with more Fairies than St. John’s on Pride Day.” Then it was Madonna on Buzzfeed using the word “gay” to describe kale.

Really? This is the sort of thing we are getting outraged about these days? The billboard is very obviously a play on words designed to be funny and not offensive. And Madonna? Really? It is hard to imagine anyone who has been more supportive of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) rights over the past 30 years than she has. I wish we could lighten up a little bit and recognize that there is a big difference between a cleverly worded double entendre or a tongue in cheek throwaway and hate speech. There has to be room for intention –  in society as a whole and within our own LGBT community. … Read more...

Whirring And Clicking

by Robbie Romu on March 14, 2014

Who taught me to hope and why would they do something so cruel? Hope is an illusion. It’s a silly thing, like trust or faith, a gossamer dream, fragile and incomplete. Hope is a promise broken.

I am the face of mental illness. I am what depression looks like. I am struggle and fight and lies. I am hidden and I am shame and I do not want you to be uncomfortable so I remain this way. I wear so many masks for you that I forget who I really am. I lull myself into a false sense of security until I too start to believe in the lie. I want you to be happy. I do not want to upset your balance. I want your truth to be unbroken, but the prison of your expectations is killing me.

It is not your fault. You do not ask me to be anything other than what you expect me to be. It is tacit, your part in my play. You go about your business and you live your life the best way you know how and for that I commend you. You are kind. You are generous and very, very busy. … Read more...

Barbequed Bob

by Robbie Romu on February 23, 2014

My parents had a habit of picking up strays. Not animals, people.

An elderly lady, named Nadia, who was of Eastern European descent, appeared one day and stayed with us for several months. She spoke very little English and was extremely high strung. She would sit for hours, gently rocking back and forth, singing softly to herself, a cast iron skillet clutched tightly in her hands. We surmised that the skillet was her weapon of choice should the “Bad Manses” ever show up and attempt to take her away. She disappeared one day as quickly as she had come.

We had a trio of cyclists pitch tents and camp in our front yard for a few weeks the summer I turned eleven, they were trekking across the country and needed a break at the halfway point. How they ended up with us remains a mystery but I am certain that the stench of marijuana and cloud of smoke hanging over their makeshift camp had a lot to do with it.

Easily the most interesting – and disturbing – stray, was Barbequed Bob. He started out as just plain old Bob, a long haired, scraggly looking fellow with hollow eyes and … Read more...

Hey Buddy, Your Fly Is Open

by Robbie Romu on January 18, 2014

I was at Starbucks this morning ordering my overly complicated coffee and there was a guy in line ahead of me with his fly open. Not just a little bit either. It was wide open. Like, I can see your underwear open. My initial impulse was to tell him, but, of course, things are never that simple.

I should probably clarify that he was not just “a guy.” He was an exhaustingly handsome, impossibly tall, mocha tinted masterpiece. “A guy” who clearly spent a majority of his free time at the gym (or worked in construction) and who should (if he didn’t already) moonlight as an Abercrombie and Fitch model. Nestled in his faultlessly chiseled jaw was a perfect set of orthodontically assisted teeth that beamed as bright as a SAD lamp. I was instantly convinced that our destinies were entwined – even though his arm was around a woman. She was probably his girlfriend and maybe even his wife, but in that moment, I decided she was his sister.

All of this matters because if he had been ugly or average then there wouldn’t be any drama at all.

I could tell that the suddenly salivating barista, who is … Read more...

A Wall Where There Should Be A Window

by Robbie Romu on December 1, 2013

I feel I should speak to the absence… My last post was on August 4th – a full 4 months ago – and one may assume that there is a reason for the break, an incident, a disaster, something to explain why it’s been so long, but that is not the case… nothing overly dramatic anyway.

The simple truth – which is anything but simple – is that it boils down to one thing. The thing that binds me, the thing that creates this enormous wall of inaction, procrastination and feigned indifference, the thing that pounces from the recesses of my mind, strikes like cold lightning and renders me mute, is fear.

Ah, fear, my dichotomous friend…

You have been with me for most of my life. You have kept me safe in times of trouble, protected me from monsters (both real and imagined) and held my hand while I pretended to walk unafraid. You have been a faithful companion, a staunch and loyal ally when the world was suddenly filled with enemies, a brother, a confidant and a safe place to hide. You have been a warm blanket, a familiar voice and – above all else – a … Read more...

While We Are Celebrating Our Pride…

by Robbie Romu on August 4, 2013

It’s been more than a week since my article on the Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics was published on Huffington Post and things have gone from bad to worse. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) claimed “assurances” from high-ranking Russian officials that no gay athletes or visitors to the games would be subject to their new law allowing for the jailing and deportation of persons spreading homosexual propaganda. Apparently, these assurances depend on which high-ranking official you talk to. Vitaly Milonov, the minister responsible for the “gay propaganda” law, has said that Russia will arrest gay athletes and tourists, adding, “If a law has been approved by the federal legislature and signed by the president, then the government has no right to suspend it. It doesn’t have the authority.” Vitaly Mulko, Russia’s sports minister, has gone on record saying, “that people with “non-traditional sexual orientation” are not banned from competing in the Games, but there will be consequences for anyone who publicly advocates homosexuality.”

Consequences?

The guaranteed consequences are 15 days in prison and deportation from Russia. The implied consequences are far worse. As we’ve seen over the course of the past several months, being gay or supporting gay rights in the … Read more...